Tag Archives: robinson ramblings

I Didn’t Get Out Of Bed Today, And I Might Not Tomorrow

Trigger Warning: If you’re familiar with my blog, you know things are about to get real AF. You also know you’ll probably feel better at the end of this post than you do now when you realize you’re not alone…or maybe I’m just hoping I’m not alone. Either way, take care of yourself. 

PS: I also curse a bit…because who doesn’t?


I didn’t get out of bed today, and I might not tomorrow. I might not the day after tomorrow either, and I’m trying to be okay with that.

I’m being slightly dramatic, since obviously I went to the bathroom and the fridge, then wound up on the couch wrapped in blankets with my laptop…but the feelings are the same.

When I first considered writing this post a few weeks ago, I was going to wait until I was “all better”. Until I was out on the other side, after I’d already reached the bottom and climbed my way up to the top. Because I will be up on my feet again…eventually. That’s how living the last two decades with Major Depressive Disorder works.

For a while, everything is okay. It’s tolerable, and some days, it’s even amazing. You’re happy and chill and things seem like they finally have all worked out. And you’ve earned it because you’ve been there, you’ve been at the bottom, you’ve gone through the worst, and you’ve paid your dues. This is your moment. This is what you were striving for during all those tears. It’s delicious and intoxicating…but it’s also fleeting.

Next come the days that aren’t so great, but not horrible, and that’s okay because it’s still not a depressive episode. It’s still tolerable, and you’re still managing your life.

But even that melts down over a few weeks, or months, or years that are hard. Really fucking hard. Your defenses are knocked down and one day, you just can’t put them back up again.

A little over a year ago, my walls started crumbling. My life suddenly didn’t look anything like I’d anticipated, or wanted. But I’m a strong woman–really damn strong, actually.

So, I powered through and tried to keep a smile on my face, and humor in my words.

I powered through a car accident. Through a miscarriage, then another, then another. I powered through losing people I loved, supports I’d come to depend on, and even the very basics of life–my home, my car, my income, my finances. I powered through losing my freedom, my weekends, or even remembering what a full fridge looks like.

Because I’m a strong woman, I powered through.

And then one day, I didn’t. My walls fell for the last time, and I scrambled like hell to find a way to build them back up, but found myself empty-handed.

I had nothing left.

I know the exact second it happened a little over a month ago now. I remember the feeling…one second I was there, then the next second I wasn’t. There was no specific trigger or reason or traumatic event that deserved this.

I’d  given the very last of what I had, and now I was empty.
It was that simple. It was that fast.

I knew my next depressive episode had started…but no one else did. How could they? I still went through the motions, and met the bare minimums, and smiled when people asked how I was doing. Only my agent saw the pages I wasn’t turning in or the phone calls I wasn’t answering. Only my husband saw the daily tears, or found me  crying curled on the shower floor unable to stand. Only my closest friends saw the emptiness in my eyes and probed further. Only I felt the physical pain of seemingly unbearable heartache throbbing in my chest.

People continued to love and laugh with my online posts or pictures, because they didn’t see that things had changed. I didn’t let them see. They cheered me on, and a few women have even told me they wish they were just like me. I’d smile and laugh it off, because they didn’t really know what they were asking for.

Sometimes I wish I was like the me they saw, too. But it felt like a lie….how could anyone want to be me?

I don’t want to be me.

They just love the online me. They think I’m great because they see the me who’s smiling and tells funny stories and writes sexy books and is always there to help other authors when they need it and so much more.

But that me…is me. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I am both. I am all of those parts put together, and how could I want anything else?

I can be the woman laughing about a silly encounter with a stranger at the local coffee shop and the woman who feels everything is falling apart and she doesn’t know how to put it back together. I can be the author who helps her friends with their books and the author who didn’t write any words today because depression stole her motivation. I can be the happy fur-mom who posts a thousand pictures of her dogs and the almost-mom who’s lost three babies before she ever could hold them and tell them just how much I’ll always love them.

I can be both, and all of the above, because humans are so many puzzle pieces mashed together and it doesn’t always fit. The picture is sometimes blurry, but it’s all still me. I’m still me.

Someone told me once that I should always be striving to be my best self. Fuck that noise. 

My best self is a full life, and that has to mean I won’t always be at “my best.” There will be tears. There will be grief and sadness and anger and hatred and an ache that feels it may never go away. And that’s okay, because my best self is also joy and love and kindness and celebration and everything else combined.

I’m choosing to live my full life, not my best life. To accept the down days and celebrate the happy ones. To appreciate the laughter because I’ve been best friends with the tears. To mope in self-pity where everything is horrible because the world is vicious and at the same time, be overwhelmed at the genuine kindness of strangers who only wanted to remind me this world can be so wholly beautiful.

My full life is wonderful and painful and joyful and devastating.

I am a strong woman…even when I’m not. I am kind, and loving, and difficult, but worth the trouble. I am all the things people tell me I am even when I don’t believe them. And in the same breath, I’m in so much pain that every breath feels like a question.

But, one day I won’t be. One day, I’ll smile and feel it in my chest, in the beat of my heart, and the lightness in my soul.

But not today. And maybe not tomorrow.
And that’s okay. That’s a full life. 

Author’s Note: If you’re someone struggling with depression or feelings of suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can also text the Crisis Text Line if you need someone to talk to in a non-life threatening crisis by texting START to 741-741. Please seek help if you need it. You are strong. You are brave. You deserve to be here. 


Shout Out to The Mom I Didn’t Come Out Of

Literally my favorite photo ever.

The ridiculously tiny woman in the photo above is my mother.

You won’t find her on my birth certificate, or in the delivery room. She can’t complain about how big my head was or how long labor was. She didn’t hold my hands when I took my first steps, or teach me how to tie my shoes. She missed every cute baby smile and giggling little girl moments when everything was easy and happy.

No, I met my mother when I was a pre-teen and she began dating my father. The happy little girl was a distant memory, and in her place was an angry, bitter young woman who had no idea what anything meant or why her biological mother hadn’t loved her enough to…stay.

For years, I fought her being a part of our family. Imagine the worst behavior a pre-teen, then soon, a teenager, can possibly display, then double it. Maybe even triple it. I threw everything I had at her, but for some damn reason, this new woman stayed.


Despite my best efforts, this woman was happy. A LOT.


She didn’t push me to be her friend, or call her mom, or even like her. Yet, she also didn’t let me walk all over her, or ignore her, or disrespect her–though I gave it a real college try! When I pulled back, she reached out and reminded me that she was there and that she loved me and that she also wasn’t going to take my shit.

This woman loved me, and she wanted to be my mother.

She may not have been there for my first steps, but she was there for every school function. She was there for every birthday party and comforted me when only one friend showed up (bitter child doesn’t equal tons of friends, y’all). She was there when police dragged me back home, and principals called home complaining, and for every other time I messed it all up and everything came tumbling down around me.

She encouraged me to write, turning my moods and penchant for beating up my siblings, into journaling my feelings with angsty poems written while wearing all black with thick eyeliner inspired by raccoons. She put up with Avril Lavigne at full blast as my 13 yr-old self sat and contemplated how unfair everyone was, how no one understood me, and how lonely and unloved I was (reminder: I was 13, guys.)

But, she was there the whole time, and she loved me. My father loved me. My siblings loved me (okay, there’s still some debate on this one). Everyone loved me, except me.

Maybe that’s why I fought her so much to begin with. And by “begin with”, I mean like 10+ years. She dealt with this for a DECADE, you guys.


This was only 4 years ago, and you can see what a delight I am.


She gave me something from day one that I couldn’t give to myself–unconditional love. And it was terrifying. I didn’t recognize it and I couldn’t understand it, which meant I couldn’t accept it. From her, or myself.

I’d like to say I grew out of it in a few years, learned my worth, learned her worth, and everything righted itself…but no. My teens came and went, and I was an adult before I could truly look back and see everything for what it was, rather than what I’d wished it had been.

Learning radical acceptance, and to take life and people at face value was a process, but when I finally embraced it a few years ago, my perspective shifted. I realized that my expectations of others were so much higher than my expectations for myself, and that I needed to love myself before I’d know how to accept it from others.

And now that I do, everything is different, even though everything is the same. But the difference now is me. I learned that loving myself meant loving all of me–even the parts that make me cringe.

I also learned she wasn’t perfect, and that I didn’t need her to be to love her. Just like I wasn’t perfect, and she’d never held that against me the way I had against her. I learned that the shame I harbored for my younger behavior was irrelevant, because it was long forgotten in her eyes. She’d loved me…always, and she always would.

I learned that my biological mother wasn’t trying to hurt me when she left, but that it was okay to feel hurt anyways. I learned to stop judging myself based on people who didn’t love themselves, and therefore couldn’t love me.

But most of all, I learned that I was a motherless daughter only because I’d spent so much time refusing to accept the mother who’d been standing by me for the majority of my life without fail. Because the truth is, I had a mother all along, and her name is Lucy and she didn’t give birth to me, but she loves me just the same as if she had.

I did everything I could to get her to leave, because I’d been taught that that’s what mothers do. But Lucy stayed, because that is what mothers do.


Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.

I’m so glad she stayed.

The Best Compliment An Author Can Receive


“I’d Read Her Again.”

There’s a lot of debate in the writer/publisher/book world about why an author should write, or why a book should be published. Is it to record a moment of history? Or make a shit ton of money? Maybe it should be for vague artistic reasons and cost nothing. Or maybe the artist/author/writer should be paid more than $0.99 for a book they spent hours and hours and hours and hours on.

Whatever the reason, it all tends to boil down to one thing for the author themselves. Take away all those things and you’ll still find a writer putting their words out into the world for one simple reason.

I wrote it because I wanted you to read it.

That sinking, thrilling, horrifying, exhilarating high of knowing your words are in someone else’s hands right now and they are READING YOU! *breathes into a paper bag*

There’s really nothing like it, and that high is why writers put their work out there. They want you to love their words, come back for me, and be forever changed by what you’ve given them.

So, to say I was shocked and ecstatic to see a recurring theme to the early reviews for NOT A HERO would be an understatement. I’m FREAKING HONORED AF! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Check out the snippets below and don’t forget to preorder Not a Hero today!!

PS: Preorder Not A Hero: 
(Click on the desired retailer below to purchase!)
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA
TBR on Goodreads | Visit the Author Website
*available on Kindle Unlimited!

I Hit Shuffle On Reviews, & Keep Getting the Same Amazing Song

“This is a wonderful “coming home from deployment” story with fantastic well developed characters. This is my first book by Sarah Robinson but it will definitely NOT be my last.” – Cheryl

“This is an epic love story full off all the feels and I may have shed a tear or two along the way. This was the first book I’ve read by Sarah and it for sure won’t be the last.” – Tracy

This is the first book I’ve read by Sarah Robinson but it won’t be my last for sure, definitely another author that’s been added to my favourites.” – Jordan

“This was a beautiful story which touches your heart in all the right places. This is the first book I’ve read from Sarah and I wasn’t disappointed.” – P Leslie

This is my first book by Sarah Robinson, and it was wonderfully written, with a heart-wrenching, engaging plot and endearing characters. I finished the book over the course of one day, which shows how much I withdrew from reality to enjoy it.” – Meghan

Not a Hero was my very first book by Sarah Robinson but it sure won’t be my last. Being a military romance, I instantly wanted to read it and this book delivered with so much more.” – Melissa

This was my first time reading a book by Sarah Robinson and I found this book well written and that I enjoyed her writing style with the dual point of view.” – Pratna

This is my first read by this author and I’d read her again.” – Ayekah

Preorder Not A Hero: 
(Click on the desired retailer below to purchase!)
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA
TBR on Goodreads | Visit the Author Website
*available on Kindle Unlimited!

*these reviews were all copied from Goodreads reviewers!


When You Have to Be A Starbucks Hero

I deserve this flower crown. Because.
This is a little story about how I saved the world…er, Starbucks patrons…from an outlet hog. You’re welcome, everyone. 😂
Me: Excuse me, sir? Would you mind if I borrow that outlet for maybe 30 minutes? My computer is almost dead. *(he’s been using it for 3 hours, so I feel that’s fair to ask, and there’s none other nearby)*
Jerk Face Butthead: What outlet?
Me: The one right there with your phone charger (points at it, smiling nicely)
JFB: You don’t need to fucking tell me my phone is charging. I am fully aware.
Me: Oh. Okaaay. Didn’t realize this convo was going that direction. 🙄
JFB: You can’t use it. I’m busy and still only at 90%.
Me: Fine. Thank you for your time.
Kind Angel Lady Next to Him: My computer is fully charged, want to use my outlet?
Me: OMG, yes! Thank you! You’re so sweet!
Me:  🙄 *plugs in computer, careful to not touch his*
JFB: *get up to leave literally 30 seconds later(..the fuck, dude?)*
Me: Excuse me, sir?
JFB: *evil eyes* What the hell do you want now?
Me: You dropped your notebook. Here. *hands it to him* Have a really great day, and I truly hope you feel better. *smiles*
JFB: Thanks, but I’m fine.
Me: Oh? Really? I figured you must be in a lot of pain if you’re being so miserable to everyone around you. I guess it’s just your heart.
JFB: *storms off*
Kind Angel Lady: *laughing hysterically*
Starbucks Employee: He’s in here every day, and let’s just say, it’s about time. Kudos.
Me:  🤗
#sorrynotsorry #boybye #whyyougottabesomean #beingaheroallovertheplace #RobinsonRamblings

[This post was originally published here on Sarah’s Facebook page. Follow her on Facebook or on her page for more up to date posts!]

9/11: The Students With Missing Parents

All students with “missing parents” were called to the guidance counselor’s office. Every other student was dismissed to their parents, but school officials didn’t know who would be coming for us.
Our parents were in towers that weren’t there anymore.
Our parents were in towers that every classroom’s television had just shown us was crumbling to the ground–our loved ones inside.
When my little sister and I were finally taken home by a kind babysitter, we sat hand in hand on the edge of the cliff at the end of our street–a small stone wall we could perch on and look directly into Manhattan. We sat on that cliff in more ways than one, our eyes straining as if maybe we could catch a glimpse of our dad from miles away. Maybe he was okay. Maybe he wasn’t in the collapse we’d seen on tv.
Manhattan was covered by a huge mass of smoke, but the skyline was missing two very obvious buildings.
And two little girls were missing their father.
Hours passed, cell phones didn’t work, and it wasn’t until night fall that he stumbled through the door. Covered in a white ash, or soot, or I’m afraid to know what else, he was home and he was okay.
Everything was okay.
And then the news started to trickle in. Friends, neighbors, mothers, and fathers who weren’t going to make the long walk from Manhattan to New Jersey tonight. People I’d known my whole life, suddenly gone. Their kids–my friends–left to pick up the pieces.
It’s those kids and their families that weigh on my heart every year. It’s the absolute terror I felt all day waiting for my father to come home, or the ache I feel in my heart when I think of what he went through to return to us that I dwell on today.
And every year, I always say the same thing.
There will be wonderful stories of survival, sacrifice, and triumph today. Those stories are vital and needed and serve an important purpose. Embrace them. Praise them.
Americans are so brave.
There will be calls for change, for defending our country, for fighting back. Those spirits and courage are important, too. Support them. Hold them.
America is so strong.
Then there will be people like me who take this one day a year and we’re not strong. We sit quietly and remember how badly those losses still hurt. And that’s important, too.
Allow yourself to feel the hurt, reflect on it, and acknowledge its value. Then, tomorrow, return the pain to where it belongs, and continue on with our heads held high and our hearts open wide.
Tomorrow, we can be strong.
Today, we can be broken.
We can just be human.
And that’s okay.
#Sept11 #NYC #NeverForget
[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook page here. It was shared over 570+ times with 1.2 likes and dozens of comments–what an honor to be able to reach so many people with this story. Thank you.]

This One Is For The Little Guys



I posted a status today asking the “little guys” to share about their books. To be honest, I was floored by the responses. My notifications blew up within minutes and I realized that while I may still feel like a little guy at heart, that’s not really the case anymore. There’s a lot of authors struggling, and that hurts my heart.
I remember the anxieties and pains from that period of time though, and I still feel them! So, I wanted to get real with you guys for a minute about what my career’s been like and what it’s taken to get there. Hopefully it will encourage other “little guys” to keep going, keep trying, keep writing.
There’s a reason why we do this, and there is a path to success but each of ours is different. If any other authors feel like posting in the comments about their journeys to help inspire, or vent, feel free! This is just one person’s experience, but it’s a different road for all of us. ❤️
In 2013, I published my first book through self publishing at age 24.
In 2016, I now have 8 published, but 11 written.
Out of those, 7 are self-pubs and 3 are traditionally published (with more to come).
My dream was always to write for Random House, and I signed a contract for 6 books with Penguin Random House in 2014.
My next book comes out Oct 4 (self-pub), and Dec 13 (traditional).
It took writing 7 books before I was proud of my writing.
In 2012, I got my Masters and began working as a therapist in a sexual offender rehabilitation programs in a jail.
In 2013 and 2014, I worked full time but started writing, plus an additional separate part time job of writing resumes.
In 2015, I worked 2 part time jobs outside of writing.
In 2016, I work 1 part time job outside of writing, plus some freelance work and consulting. I also now fully support my household due to my partner’s job change.
During all 4 years, I’ve averaged 60-80 hours of work per week.
I haven’t taken a vacation. I didn’t get a honeymoon. I have never taken a full weekend off. I normally work all 7 days a week.
I write at least 20,000 words a week minimum, and I do all my own marketing at night. I do not have an assistant.
I only go out with friends once a month, if that. I turn down events all the time and forget promises I make people regularly.
I don’t have kids yet, which helps with time, but I’ve had several miscarriages and am actively trying to adopt/get pregnant.
I have date nights, even if its just on the couch, because we need that time. When a friend needs me, I’m always there–work never comes first.
I spend half a day every week cooking and shopping for the rest of the week. My husband cleans the house because I just can’t even.
I watch television because it’s fun and I want to, and I don’t feel guilty if I’m doing something that isn’t work or writing.
I spend at least 15 minutes a day screaming and running in circles around my house with the dogs, playing. I call it my exercise.
I read at least 2-3 books a week.
I cry at least 2x a week about whether or not I’ll ever reach my dreams, or be able to afford…life.
In 2013 and 2014, I netted a profit loss on my books. I think it was by -$8k the first year, and -$3k the second year, but I don’t fully remember.
In 2015, I made +$8,000 profits from my books.
In 2016, I made +$8,000 in January alone, and while it’s always up and down throughout the year, by the end of the 2016, I’m projected to net a “normal” salary for my work.
In 2017, I hope to do 1.5x what I’m doing this year.
I still struggle and work on paying down a lot of debt, and put most of my book money back into my business. My shoes have holes in them and I wait for my birthday to come up until I beg a relative to buy me new shoes because that’s a “luxury” for me at the moment. I still give away hundreds of my books and buy other author’s books every week.


1) Pick your goals and work toward it, no exceptions.
2) Be willing to put in the time. And a lot of it.
3) Unless you just want a hobby, treat this like a business.
4) Sleep. Get lots of sleep, or you’ll be less productive.
5) The best way to sell a book is write the next book.
There’s plenty more and I could go on and on, but this is just one author’s take on what life looks like when you work really hard and get one step closer to your goals. I’m nowhere near where I want to be yet, but one day I will be, and it will have made all the hard work worth it. There are tons of authors doing much more and much better than me, and that’s perfectly okay with me. We’re not competition, we’re peers.
But even if it never pays off, I love what I do. I love my job, and I love working hard, and that’s all that’s ever going to matter in the long run. I’ve surrounded myself with a great group of people, my agent, my publisher, other authors, my family, my friends, etc, who make me a better version of myself and I love every moment of it. This is going to be my lifetime career, and I’m going to make it successful–no exceptions.
So, don’t be discouraged if your book isn’t selling, or you’re struggling to reach more readers, or you’re new and overwhelmed. It’s not an easy road for any of us. We’re all just trying to figure it out.
Just keep writing.


Go check out some of these awesome books listed in the comments of my “Little Guys” Post here!

[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook profile here. Please follow her there (or on her page) for the most up to date information. For book information, please subscribe to her newsletter here.]

Image Credit: http://www.specialtyansweringservice.net/14-words-every-business-owner-needs-know/


When You’re Trying To Be Productive But You Have Cats


Cat Life Meets Author Life

Me at desk trying to write.
Whirring noise irritating me. “Shoot, I need to refill the dog fountain before it starts whistling and screeching.”
Gets up from desk. Walks toward kitchen.
Sees cat with tampons in her mouth.
Chases cat down and removes said tampon. Minimal scratches, yet maximum cursing occur.
Investigates where tampon came from, because I taped the damn box up yesterday to avoid this exact situation from repeating.
Can’t find source of cat chewed tampons. Box is still taped. There’s a mystery source of tampons in my house somewhere.
Frustrated. Now needs more coffee. Makes coffee.
Walks around house in circles sipping coffee wondering why I got up in the first place and what I’m forgetting.
Washes a dish. Wipes the counter. Gives evil eye to cat. Still can’t remember what I was supposed to do.
20 min laters, goes to sit back at desk and write because #2booksin2months yall. #thestruggleisreal
“Oh, shit, I had to refill the dog water fountain.”
Gets up and goes to dog water fountain and FINDS A DAMN TAMPON IN IT and now I’m chasing the cat again and the fountain is still screeching and I’m seconds away from switching from coffee to wine.
On a separate note, cat for sale.
As in, I’ll pay you to take her.
#authorlife #amwriting #amtryingtowrite #RobinsonRamblings


[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook profile here. Please follow her there (or on her page) for the most up to date information. For book information, please subscribe to her newsletter here.]


People Are More Important.

Trigger Warnings: Yay or Nay?

When you choose to be a public figure of any kind, including being an author, you’re choosing to bare a greater responsibility than most. With the privilege, power, and luxuries afforded to you in your position, there’s also an expectation that you’ll use those for the benefit of your followers or readers, or at the very least, not to the readers detriment.
This attitude of “I’ll write what I’ll write, no warning, readers be damned” has always shocked me. Write whatever you want–there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what journals are for, or letters, or private blogs, or whatever you’d like to write to help you purge those stories from your soul.
Publishing, however, is an entirely different matter and not as cut and dry. Publishing is not a right. It’s not without its rules, as most retailer’s terms and conditions will attest to. And there’s a reason for that.
Your words matter. They affect people. Positive, and negatively. God forbid our words hurt a reader irreparably…would it have been worth it? Or would you wish you’d taken the time to put in a small sentence in your blurb giving those struggling a heads up? Would the potential minuscule spoiler for the masses be worth that one person’s life? To me, the choice seems clear, and yes, I feel that strongly about it.
While you can never write to please everyone, there is a basic level of respect and care for your readership that should be bare minimum. Write anything you want, however you want, and go ahead and publish it, if that’s what you want. But keep in mind that by publishing a book, you do have a responsibility to properly identify its content. Television shows, video games, news articles, allergies on foods, and the list can go on and on and on for other medias and fields that already do this, so why should books be exempt? It’s not a perfect system, and people will still fall through the cracks, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try.
It doesn’t have to be blatant, or spoil the story–it could just be vague enough to give a nod to those who struggle with triggering topics to make them do further research into exactly how triggering it may be. There are so many different ways to do this based on the author’s preference, like a small sentence disclaimer, a more specific blurb, a properly categorized genre, etc. This doesn’t harm the story, or censor the author, and so there’s no reason not to do it.
That may not be the popular opinion on social media today, but it’s certainly my belief.
Writing is important. Publishing is important.
People are more important.
EDITED TO ADD: This is not targeted at a specific book or author. I genuinely believe this applies to all books with relative content.

[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook profile here. Please follow her there (or on her page) for the most up to date information. For book information, please subscribe to her newsletter here.]

Image Credit: http://soshable.com/its-the-people-behind-the-numbers-on-social-media-that-matter-most/people-matter-in-social-media-4/


Entering The World of Snapchat



This is very serious, you guys. I’m officially on a new social media platform, and I’m going to be honest… I’m obsessed. Snapchat is so fun–24 hours of pictures before * poof * gone!

Yes, it’s true–my dogs, cats, and other parasitic pets are the stars of my Snapchat stories, but don’t you worry, I also post TONS of selfies. Just what you wanted…I know! There’s some book news on there too, when it comes up, but mostly it’s just me living my life with tons of funny filters 🙂

Also, did you know the filters work on dogs and cats?!?!?! This is very important to know. I will be using this OFTEN.

Come follow me at @booksbysarahrob! 


[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook profile here. Please follow her there (or on her page) for the most up to date information. For book information, please subscribe to her newsletter here.]


Writer’s Tip: Set Easy, Random Goals in Vibrant Colors


For all the writer’s out there:

Set little, random word count goals for yourself with little treats and rewards along the way. I learned this trick from Rachel Hollis’ Snapchat, and it makes me so productive! I love it, and get in so many more words every day because of it! 😀

Also, I got this notebook at Staples or Office Depot, who knows, and it’s the brand Poppin (no, not a paid endorsement). I also have their pens, paperclips, and other random office supplies from them and I love it. Why? Vibrant colors! I need it for my creativity, and it works wonders.

So, go out to your local office supplies store and buy a notebook that speaks to you and makes you feel excited–be vain about it! Then come home and write all the damn words.

EDIT (9/1/16): I still do this today and it’s helped me write 3 books in the last 5 months! I’m unbelievably more productive, and loving it! 

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